The scent of incense clung to the Regent’s chamber, heavy and metallic, as though the air itself had forgotten how to breathe.

  I stood before his desk, posture straight, hands behind my back. The faint tick of the clock echoed against the tall glass windows, where pale morning light pooled across the marbled floor.

  When I finished speaking, the Regent said nothing at first. His eyes - the same faint gold as Mary's - studied me as if weighing whether my words were truth or fabrication. Finally, he leaned back in his chair, folding his hands.

  “So,” he said, voice calm and precise, “Judge Arken has personally filed a complaint. To the Inquisition, no less. Asked me to pass it to them.”

  A faint smile curved his lips. “Ironic, isn’t it?”

  “I’d call it poetic,” I replied quietly.

  “Hmm.” He tapped a finger on the armrest, thoughtful. “Our investigation has confirmed your account. Every assailant in that massacre was found… well, what’s left of them, rather eviscerated. The grenades were used intentionally. No survivors. No evidence.”

  He paused, then smiled faintly. “All… except one.”

  I inclined my head. “You’re welcome.”

  That earned a small laugh. “It would have been better if he’d lived,” the Regent said, his amusement soft but genuine. “Still, what you managed has helped quite a bit.”

  He opened a folder on his desk - thin, black, and marked with the sigil of the Inquisition. From within, he withdrew a photograph and turned it toward me.

  The dead assassin’s face stared up from the page - pale, sharp-boned, foreign.

  “They are of Eastern descent,” the Regent said evenly.

  My stomach dropped. “You don’t mean-”

  “Yes.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “The old Eastern Empire. Or what they now call the Eastern Republic. It seems they’ve finally abandoned their self-imposed seclusion.”

  He leaned back again, gaze distant. “Not only do we have heretics vying for control, but now it appears the East has joined the game. I’ll have to report to the capital soon - this matter has become… extremely concerning.”

  I stayed silent, but the Regent’s expression shifted slightly, catching my hesitation like a hawk spotting prey.

  “You’re thinking it, aren’t you?” he said. “The worst possibility.”

  My throat felt dry. “If both groups were operating in Morren,” I said slowly, “yet never clashed… then that could mean-”

  “They’re working together,” he finished, the words soft but heavy. “It's a terrifying possibility. Two powers - one born of rebellion, the other of exile - using our treacherous nobility and disillusioned poor to eat this city from within. Without firing a single bullet of their own. I'm almost impressed.”

  He smiled faintly again, but there was no humor in it. “And who’s to say Morren is the only city suffering the infection?”

  A chill crept through my spine. “It seems the Empire’s in the middle of a cold war.” I murmured before I could stop myself.

  The Regent blinked, then tilted his head in faint curiosity. “Cold war?” he repeated, tasting the phrase. “A war without weapons, fought in shadows and secrets. Yes… I rather like that.” His eyes flickered with quiet amusement. “I might just steal the term from you.”

  I forced a small smile, though my mind was already spiraling. “What do you want me to do now?”

  “Arken,” he said simply. “He knows we’re watching him now, but we still lack proof. Until we have it, the Inquisition’s hands are tied.” He folded his arms atop the desk. “You, Damian, will have to conduct one final round of espionage.”

  I blinked. “With respect, sir… shouldn’t someone better trained handle that? An actual infiltrator?”

  The Regent chuckled softly. “All my other inquisitors are otherwise occupied.”

  I frowned slightly. “Occupied with what?”

  He smiled in that way that always made me uneasy - too calm, too polite, too practiced. “Things more important than this.”

  I didn’t believe him for a second.

  The Regent’s smile thinned, losing whatever trace of humor it once had.

  “Unfortunately,” he said, “we don’t yet have proof that the Eastern Empire is involved. For all we know, this could simply be a well-funded band of mercenaries - though the level of coordination makes that… highly unlikely.”

  He drummed his fingers lightly on the desk. “Still, speculation means nothing. And trial without evidence - especially against a noble of Arken’s rank - would be considered quite illegal.”

  He looked at me, eyes sharp and glacial. “So what we need, Damian, is evidence.”

  I crossed my arms. “And how exactly am I supposed to gather this so-called evidence?”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  The Regent’s lips curved faintly. “There’s one place that comes to mind. But it will have to be tonight.”

  I stayed silent.

  “Arken’s residence,” he continued, “is attached directly to Morren’s High Judiciary Hall. As Chief Judge, his personal estate connects to the archives themselves. That means the same place housing city records, decrees, and court testimonies likely contains his private dealings - correspondence, ledgers, contracts. Anything that ties him to the heretics or the East. It doesn't have to be hard proof, just confirmation.”

  He leaned forward slightly, tone sharpening. “You’ll need to move quickly. Arken is currently being held in the lower cells ‘for his own safety' after the assassination attempt, and with half of his faction dead or missing, the confusion gives us a rare window. By tomorrow, the excuse for detaining him will no longer hold.”

  “So I have until midnight,” I said quietly.

  The Regent nodded. “Precisely. Midnight. After that, we’ll have to release him, and the moment he’s free, every scrap of evidence will vanish with him.”

  I exhaled, the weight of it already pressing on my chest. “It’s going to be risky. The courthouse is sacred ground - sanctified and warded. I’ll have to dart through the shadows.”

  A faint gleam lit the Regent’s eyes. “You are the shadows, Damian. Don’t forget that. Your affinity makes you uniquely suited for this kind of work. Move unseen, take what we need, and be gone before the guards realize they’ve dreamed of you.”

  I nodded, forcing a thin smile. “Then I’d better get it done quickly. Mary expects me to leave with her for the capital in a week.”

  “Ah, yes,” the Regent said, his tone softening into something almost paternal. “My dear niece is homesick, no doubt. I’ll be staying behind a little longer to assist Arthur and stabilize what remains of the city. But it shouldn’t be long before I follow.”

  He closed the folder, the sound crisp in the quiet room. “You’re dismissed. Remember - midnight.”

  I turned toward the door.

  “Damian,” the Regent added, almost as an afterthought.

  I paused. “Yes?”

  “Good luck.”

  I smiled faintly beneath the weariness. “I’ll need it.”

  And then I was gone, the echo of my boots fading into the marble corridor.

  I opened up my pocket watch, the time reading one-forty-five.

  I better see Mary, just in case.

  ---

  The courtyard was still.

  Wind moved through the high marble arches, brushing over the garden pond below where pale lilies floated on black water. The gazebo - white stone, draped in thin curtains - stood at the center, the faint scent of jasmine curling through the air.

  I leaned against the railing, hunched forward, watching the pearl-white and ink-black fish drift beneath the surface. They moved in slow circles, silent and unbothered by the world above.

  Behind me, Mary sat at a small table, porcelain cup in hand, her posture immaculate even in rest.

  “Would you like to begin the lesson now?” she asked, voice soft but deliberate.

  I didn’t look back. “What time is it?”

  “Half past two.”

  “Then let me rest for thirty minutes,” I said, eyes following the fish. “I came here for the quiet too.”

  Mary gave a small, mock sigh. “And here I thought it was for my company.”

  I didn’t answer. The fish moved together - white and black, swirling like twin halves of the same being. I was entranced by their beautiful dance, a serene yet ominous feeling settling in.

  Mary tilted her head, a small smile still playing at her lips. “My uncle bought them for me,” she said after a pause. “A gift. He said they were imported from the East before the borders closed. I must admit, despite being opposites in color, they get along quite well. To my surprise.”

  “Two sides of the same coin,” I murmured under my breath.

  “Hmm?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “Just thinking out loud.”

  Mary set her cup down gently, concern slipping into her expression. “You seem distracted, Damian. Is it nervousness? The capital can be overwhelming at first. One of its twelve wards is three times the size of Morren after all.”

  I shook my head slowly. “No, not that.”

  I stared at the fish again. I felt their contrasting colors symbolized something deeper, something I desperately wanted the answer to.

  Continuing to watch them, I asked, quietly, “Do you think a dove and a crow can coexist? Or are they doomed to clash - tearing each other apart above the same land they were meant to protect?”

  She blinked, caught off guard. “Well, in nature, they don’t fight, do they?”

  “That’s not what I meant.” I turned slightly, meeting her gaze. “The Empire’s crest - the dove and the crow in an eternal dance. What do they really symbolize, do you think?”

  Mary’s brow furrowed in thought. “I’m not sure. The design came from the First Emperor’s reign. The meaning’s been lost to time. Though I always assumed it was the two faces of the Empire - the Church and the Inquisition.”

  I nodded my head lightly. "That would make sense, but..."

  The wind seemed to grow stronger, as if fingers were clawing through my hair.

  “...I think it’s us,” I said quietly. “What humans are capable of. What we could become. The two paths we always walk between - light and shadow. Idealism and neccesaity. Hope and pragmatism.”

  Mary studied me for a moment, the sunlight catching gold in her eyes. “That’s an interesting way to see it.”

  “Tell me something,” I said, leaning back against the railing. “Who do you think I am, Mary? And your uncle - what is he? Are we crows… or doves?”

  She hesitated, then shook her head. “I don’t think it’s that simple. But if I had to choose…” She smiled faintly. “I’d say both of you are doves.”

  That actually made me pause. “Why?”

  Her voice softened, carrying a quiet conviction. “Because while neither of you are saints, your goals are pure. My uncle has done terrible things - he’s told me as much - but he’s done them for what he believes is good. And you…” She looked at me with that same, unguarded sincerity. “You carry guilt for every life you take - I can see it in your eyes. That alone makes you different. I think intent matters, even if the world doesn’t always agree.”

  I looked back down at the pond. The fish were moving together again - black and white twisting in perfect symmetry. “That’s a very utilitarian way of thinking.”

  She blinked. “A what?”

  “Never mind,” I said with a faint smile. “Didn’t expect that answer, that’s all.”

  Mary laughed softly. “You sound like him.”

  “Who?”

  “My uncle,” she said, smiling at the memory. “He was the only one who ever cared about me before I was anyone worth caring about. When I was a child, I could see through every adult’s lies - their masks, their false praise. It was like being surrounded by smiling corpses. If ignorance is bliss, then I was living in hell.”

  Her eyes dimmed a little, distant. “But he was there. The only one who never lied to me. Who told me what I needed to hear, not what I wanted to. Who loved me as though I were his own child. That’s why I respect him so deeply.”

  She turned back to me, her tone brightening again. “And as I got to know you, I started to see pieces of him in you too. You’re cruder, of course - rough around the edges - but you share that same stubborn sincerity and brutal honesty that makes me laugh.”

  She smiled - a genuine, radiant smile. “That’s why I trust you, Damian. Why I can call you a friend.”

  I met her gaze for a moment, then smiled back. A real one. “Thank you, Mary.”

  Her smile deepened, warm and bright. For a moment, I almost believed it was that simple.

  Then my eyes drifted back to the pond, to the black and white fish moving in quiet harmony. The wind in my hair seemed to disappear, and with it, so did my smile.

  I really wish you hadn’t said that.

  The last person I had wanted her to see in me, was her uncle.